


F*ckin' Tourist

by ciceroskulksabout



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Valentine's Day, giftfic, writing this actually made me like Yorinobu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29717982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciceroskulksabout/pseuds/ciceroskulksabout
Summary: Giftfic for Jersey.  Yorinobu reflects on the death of his father, his goals, and how lonely it had all been... Until it wasn't.
Relationships: Yorinobu Arasaka/V
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	F*ckin' Tourist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fizziefizzco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizziefizzco/gifts).



A Tourist No Longer: to the one who makes the days bearable and the nights a dream

Their family was not like others.

Their family was not like others, precious few could understand and that same precious few were among the ones who did not judge them, that knew they could not. Though Yorinobu had often wondered if anything was ever really personal with Saburo? The greybeard had emotionally checked out long before he was born. In some ways, he had never climbed out of that cockpit that had claimed his arm.

In case anyone wanted to question the kind of people that survived the Second World War, there was a living, breathing relic of the era holding the majority of shares of the company that bore his name. This one had gone on to help skullfuck the world into a coma and, somehow, make Arasaka seem like the reasonable ‘caring’ option.

Useless trash, drivel and lies. Every single word of it.

Growing up, his only solace had been his sister. Hanako had been a balm on a blistering day and he was always grateful to have her in his life… And then he had left. Run away when he was barely grown, had tried to make a life--and for what? To be the ultimate meme of an edgelord. Every now and then, he wondered if his attempt at a life had been a severely misguided attempt at winning his father’s respect. It was a habit, wasn’t it? To want your parents or parental figure’s approval. Saburo had made certain that he only had The Emperor to look up to and aspire to.

In the end, he loathed him. Loved him still, because he was supposed to. So many emotions to unpack and he never had, likely never would. Where did it leave him? Emotionally stunted with a massive chip on his shoulder and oh-so-much to prove. Even more now that he had left and come back.

Which led him to Night City, a world within a world and far enough away from his father that he felt like he could breathe. It wasn’t Tokyo, the streets were cleaner there--but only to fulfill an image that all wealthy citizens held in their minds. The rest of the world would always stare in gluttonous envy… Which was the height of the problem. The haves and the have nots were not so different, not nearly as much as the haves would have the rest of them believe at least. Both groups were utterly afraid of having everything taken from them. The elite would not fall so far, the same rules simply did not apply to them. The rest? They were afraid of watching their children starve, of watching them shiver in a cold rain, dreaming of warmth their family could no longer provide. In Night City, like anywhere else in the world, this stark and bitter reality permeated every facet of daily life, even the air was fetid with it. There was no escaping the scent of broken promises, drugs, and the sickly sweet scent of rot.

No matter where Yorinobu went, he could always smell it--the scent of death and decay. Maybe it was imagined, maybe it haunted him now that he had stained his hands with what would have once been an unthinkable sin. Whether it was the lingering undercurrent of violence in every aspect of this city or the culmination of a near century of emotional absence and mental assault, he could not say. Though he supposed it was a mix of it all. After all, he hadn’t left upon his graduation on a whim. Now he was back and Saburo had paid the ultimate price…

Or had he?

Yorinobu was a haunted man and there wasn’t a soul among the tens of thousands at his beck and call that he could confide in. He wanted to say that he was sorry, he wanted to mean it. Though it would be a lie--the guilt over decades of being the ungrateful second son meant nothing to him. In time, these feelings would pass. After all, being responsible for the deaths of legions had meant nothing to his father. Nor had he blinked when so many small businesses had no longer been able to pay and thus found themselves absorbed or abandoned. A thousand thousand cries, a thousand thousand death rattles to remind him of what he had set out to do all those years ago with the Dragons. His guilt was not real and it would pass, even if it wished to linger like an oily shroud, whispering kinslayer in his ear whenever he tried to find a moment’s peace.

Did he feel the tiniest bit sorry for the ones he had accused? Maybe… maybe not. They were of literally no consequence to him—and why should they be? What difference would a pair of lives make in the grand scheme of this even grander game of chess?

More justifications. More things he told himself to attempt to sleep at night. None of it worked, how could it? Things had been different in the Steel Dragons. They fought for territory, power, for the ability to raise their families in a safe haven and never know fear nor hunger. But what were they but spokes on a wheel? Arasaka had once upon a time been a spoke on that wheel, but they had since become the wheel. His grandfather had started this, his father had made certain of it.

  
  


Now it was his. All his and he didn’t even want it. He thought that no one should have this kind of power, though he certainly had ideas on how best to use said power.

* * *

One might assume that wealth, power, and security would be enough for anyone. That they might find comfort in all they had achieved and revel in the ability to let out a well deserved heavy sigh, kick back, relax, and have a drink. A monarch surveying over their kingdom after a long, arduous journey, or was it a battle? Lost in thought, Yorinobu was _attempting_ to relax after a long day. The press conference had gone well, so had the half dozen or so interviews he had done as the new head of the company. It was all to be expected, even though the greybeard was nearing 160 years in age, his passing was still a shock to the world. He played the part well, the stoic and strong son who had grand ideas to bring his father’s company up to speed with the rest of the world.

To ‘do right by his father’s legacy’. How he said that without laughing was a fucking miracle.

It felt wrong, deep down. He was not the one who should be heading the company, though no one truly knew what thoughts whirled in his mind at hurricane speeds. He thought he would be a fool to think Saburo was truly dead, not when there was a team standing by at all times to transfer his consciousness to an AI. The Relic technology he had stolen, then promptly had stolen from him, was unfinished technology but the effects were enough to give him true pause. He assumed it was only a matter of time before his father resurfaced, just like in the last war that had seen Kei give his life. How many would Saburo’s ambition crush before it could be stopped? He had to act quickly

And yet nothing felt right. Gone was the fleeting guilt he’d felt in the days after his foray into patricide. Though knowing his father, he couldn’t help but feel that he hadn’t killed him, not truly. Saburo’s legacy was everywhere, steeped in a past that had already been lost before he’d taken his first breaths in this world, then he’d gone to war and then made it his personal mission to restore what was lost. The task of a mad man megalomaniac had let him be called Emperor and since he was old enough to understand, Yorinobu had thought it strange.

Now here he was, in the Emperor’s place and it felt like he had stepped into the shoes of a ghost. It only added to the sense of urgency he felt through every facet of his day. Saburo would come back at some point, it was only a matter of time. The engram of Johnny Silverhand, lost though it was, was not the only one in existence. He was certain of it.

He had to act fast, though he had so few he could trust. Truly confide in.... A smile would work it’s way over his usually stoic mask, much closer to the man who had truly come of age in the Steel Dragons. His eyes flashed a vibrant red as he called for Goro.

* * *

It had been a solid week since Yorinobu had given the order for his father’s murderers to be found. Goro’s search had, at last, born fruit. The fixer that had hired them was caught at the border, attempting to flee. Admittedly, Mr. Deshawn had gotten further than one might have given him credit for, though it had ended the same way: his huscle dead in a ditch and the man being marched back to where he had dumped a body. 

Arasaka already had one accomplice, one witness. Now all Yorinobu needed was the other to ensure that what they knew never came to light. Not until he was ready, if he ever was ready.

Though just to be certain… 

“Send a support team. Ensure their return. If there is resistance, deal with it.”

Words he would come to choke on.

It had been a fucking _massacre_.

* * *

A day passed. Then another. A week. Then two. _Three_.

Goro had gone into hiding, the accomplice no doubt having told her side of the story. The support team had taken _liberties_ , foolish of them given that Goro Takemura was quite literally the best of them, had even trained some of them. Now the old man had a mission and a witness and they were both in the wind.

Rather, they _had_ been in the wind. Once they knew the general location of where they’d fled to, it had been a simple matter to sniff out all the rippers in Watson. Viktor Vector had not given them up, he was an honorable man--certainly much more than Yorinobu. No, once they were able to trace this accomplice, Goro’s witness, it was a simple matter to gain access to local traffic cameras. Even with Kiroshi cloaking optics, they only obscured the face.

It wasn’t long before they found her. Now here he stood, in front of the type of place he had not been since his days with the Dragons. Yorinobu smiled to himself, slipping his hands into his coat pockets as he walked up the broken steps into the shithouse that was likely condemned by the city, yet they never really got around to demolishing it.

Where would all the vagrants hide if not for the skeletons of progress?

He almost wished he had worn something less… Clean. He stuck out like a sore thumb, though he’d stick out anywhere but Konpeki and the city center. He had yet to be beaten into submission, this time at least.

“Hey man, nice shoes.” Said the woman curled up beside the steps. He didn’t answer, simply headed inside with his scanner fired up behind opaque black lenses. Sure, he was more likely to catch on a rusty nail in here, but he was here to hopefully speak with the woman who now had a rogue engram likely overwriting her consciousness with each passing day. Maybe, just maybe, she’d hear him out.

Or try to kill him, wouldn’t be the first time he made that bet. Likely wouldn’t be the last either.

True to form, he’d been met with a knife and the kind of desperation that makes using an edged weapon so much easier. Anything with an edge was far more personal than a bullet, he’d found. He didn’t even flinch when he found it pointed at him, completely aware that even if this woman did manage to stab him, the consequences for him would be minimal and for her?

One way or another, it wouldn’t be a wasted trip.

And it hadn’t been.

“Ms. Welles, it is good to finally meet you.” And he meant it.

He could have gone on about common goals, interests, and ideals, but between the fight she’d put up and his unwillingness to harm her—it had become a stalemate. A Mexican standoff where one shouted at the other. 

In the end, Yorinobu had gotten what he came for: a partner. He just didn’t know it yet.

* * *

“A ‘fucking tourist’?” Yorinobu scoffed, a cat jumping into his lap and demanding immediate attention. The cats knew the score, who _really_ ran this household—as it certainly wasn’t Nesa or Yorinobu. He could have been tuning a guitar, but what Nekohime wanted, Nekohime got. Not like he minded much anyways.

“That’s what Jackie called you—y’know, before we jacked your shit.” It all went back to the Relic, it was how they met and would always be a sort of… cornerstone to their foundation: shared ambition and barely tempered rage. Here in Japan, things were simpler, though certainly not easier. Nesa was working away on a new track, one ear aimed towards him though certainly not paying much attention.

“Do you think he was right?” An innocent question, loaded though it was.

“At the time? Yeah, definitely. The press was one way and the mercs were another.” Now she was listening, as was the overly pampered Persian purring in his lap

“The Steel Dragon has rusted, his spine crumbled, he returned home like a kicked dog—with his tail between his legs. The Dragons said all that and more.” He hadn’t told a soul what he was truly planning—that he was playing the long game so there wouldn’t be some flash in the pan attempt at revolution. The giants had long since battled back and forth, scarring the world and it’s people so viciously they didn’t even notice. Not really. 

“Knowing what I know now—“

“If you had known, you would be dead and so would I. Nothing would have changed and my father would be driving me around like a fucking skin car.” ….and that is why they shouldn’t watch terrible old movies, like Slither. The point remained: the Relic tech had given him nightmares from day one. When his father had shown him that it could be used to live forever, he knew he couldn’t allow it to happen. He could have waxed poetic and did for the cameras: what is the purpose of life if it is unending? That we are finite is the thing that gives us meaning.

Privately: he had been utterly terrified of Saburo living forever, if only to be king of the cinders of the world he had helped destroy. Of him using his body to do so.

No matter how much time passed, it was the one thing that still gave him nightmares.

“Hey, you went all serious. You gonna come back to me or just sit there and glower at the cat hair on your pants?” That got a smile—he couldn’t have done any of this without Nesa Welles. The fire to his ice. His partner. His lover. His reason. 

Nekohime was thoroughly annoyed with the lack of attention from either of her parents and scampered off in disgust. Yorinobu didn’t mind, his eyes were all for the woman standing in front of him, he hadn’t seen her get up—too wrapped up in a thought pattern that would leave him spiraling.

“I am always here, Nesa. Where you are is the only place I want to be.” It was corny as hell, but it was the truth and rather than let her laugh and walk away, he reached out and took her hand, pulled her down into his lap. He was going to show her exactly how grateful he was to have her in his life, however long it took.


End file.
